Yule Log Eulogy

by Addison Moore

  Good. I can use some serious help for once.

  “Lottie?” Noah’s voice seizes between Keelie's nonstop screams, and soon the room is flooded with party guests both screaming and gasping at the grisly sight.

  Noah wields his cane at the blooming crowd. “Everyone out of the room, now. This is a crime scene.” He taps wildly into his phone, and I have a feeling he’s notifying the sheriff’s department.

  Lainey and Meg defy his wishes and burst into the room about as far as Keelie before recoiling at the sight themselves.

  Lainey gags. “I think I’m going to be sick.”

  Meg grunts as if she might join her. “I’ll get these two away from here.” She navigates both Keelie and Lainey out of the room just as Everett speeds his way over.

  Everett pulls me to my feet and wraps his arms around me as Noah crouches down and checks Larson’s vitals.

  “Lemon, what happened?” Everett’s chest pounds hard against my own.

  “I was just—I was exploring and I came in and I saw this painting”—I can hardly catch my breath—“and I tripped over her body. Someone must have lured her in here. I feel terrible. It’s her Christmas party and—and she’s dead.”

  “What?” a female voice shrills from the door, and it’s Cressida bleached out as pale as a ghost herself. She traipses on in. The sound of her heels clattering breaks up the thick silence. “That’s not Larson, is it? She wouldn’t be caught dead wearing a cheap gold scarf like that.”

  My mouth opens in an effort to say something to her but not a word squeaks out.

  “Everett”—Noah hitches his head toward her—“make sure the entry is blocked. See if they have security roaming the premises, check for cameras, and get Lottie some water and a comfortable place to sit.”

  “Will do.”

  The room floods with EMTs and deputies just as Everett navigates us to the door where poor Cressida seems to go catatonic as her eyes lock on the body.

  “Everett, go ahead.” I gently give him a shove in her direction as I thread my way through the flood of deputies heading this way.

  A tall redhead holding a badge overhead barrels toward the library and stops just shy of me.

  Detective Ivy Fairbanks is a stunning redhead, as smart as they come, and happens to be Noah’s partner in the homicide division down in Ashford.

  “How did I know I’d see you here tonight?” Her crimson lips twist with disdain. “Let me guess. You just so happened to stumble upon the body.”

  I give a reluctant nod. “And she just so happened to be holding my cake. It’s Larson Rosenberg. This is her house—or her father’s house, and someone strangled her with tinsel!” Okay, so it was garland. What difference does it make? It’s the same foil family.

  She glances past me a moment, and I follow her gaze to Everett comforting a hysterical Cressida.

  “I want you staying out of my way, Lottie. And unfortunately, that goes for Noah, too. It’s not going to be easy for him to do that, but we don’t want him relapsing now, do we?” She squints accusingly my way.

  “No, heavens no.”

  “Good.” She pulls her lips back into a tight smile. “Because if I find out either one of you is snooping around in my investigation, I’ll have Detective Fox placed on administrative leave until next August. Are we clear?”

  I gasp. “You’re threatening Noah just to keep me at bay, aren’t you?”

  “You are a smart cookie.” She gives a little wink as she makes her way past me. “I have the building surrounded, Lottie. No one leaves until I say so. Why don’t you head out there and serve up some dessert or something?”

  The nerve.

  I head back into the next room, only to find the party still going full force. “Jingle Bell Rock” is blaring at top volume, and bodies are jostling as they dance to the music. The crowd is so thick I swear the population has doubled in the short window of time I was in that library. People are laughing, singing along with the music, and suddenly every person in here seems to have donned a plush Santa hat with an annoying little bell on the end that jingles along my very last nerve.

  I spot Alex, Noah’s look-alike younger brother. They share the same dark hair, green eyes, and dimples to die for, with the exception that Alex is built like a brick wall. He’s an ex-Marine turned investment banker, and he happens to be dating both my employee, Lily, and my cousin, Naomi. I can’t help but scowl at him as he wraps Naomi tight in his arms.

  Last month, he revealed that he was going to date Naomi exclusively the entire month of December and then switch off to Lily come January. I don’t know how either of those girls hasn’t kicked him to the curb yet—but, in truth, both Lily and Naomi are competitive to a fault. They’re willing to grind this relationship into the ground so long as they come up the victor. Lily and Naomi were best of friends before the Alex debacle, and I’m beginning to wonder if they’ll ever recover.

  An arm pulls me to the side, and I land square in front of my mother and sisters.

  “Lottie!” My mother’s lips are tight, her eyes wild with a combination of despair and anger. “Not again.”

  My mother is beautiful and looks far younger than her stated age. Her shoulder-length blonde curls are just as creamy as I remember when I was a little girl, and her blue eyes are usually sparkling with joy, unlike the budding rage they’re harboring at the moment.

  I open my mouth to say something, but Lainey holds up a hand, cutting me off.

  “Yes, again.” She snaps my way. “And if you would have taken those Baltic Sea salts I tried to give you last month to ward off dead bodies, none of this would be happening right now.” Her body convulses as she gags and retches.

  Meg waves wildly to someone behind me. “We’ve got a puker!”

  Before we know it, Lainey’s husband Forest has his arms wrapped around her as she leans hard over his chest. Forest Donovan is handsome in a conventional way with a strong jaw with chestnut wavy hair and stunning gray eyes. He’s wearing his firefighting uniform, what my father used to call turnout gear, a khaki uniform with yellow reflective tape.

  Forest presses Lainey close to him as she writhes and retches. “We need to get her out of here.” He grimaces at the sea of firemen headed toward the library, and shockingly the guests seem undeterred by the sight. “But the room is under lockdown at the moment.”

  Lainey claws over his chest. “I’ll be fine. I just need a seat and a drink.”

  We quickly usher her to the table with the giant crystal ball, and soon my mother has a glass of sparkling water in Lainey’s hand.

  “What happened, Lottie?” my mother asks as if pleading for the truth.

  “It was the girl who threw the party”—I lean in—“Larson, she’s…she’s gone. And I’m betting whoever did it was a guest.”

  My mother clutches at her throat.

  Forest groans, “I’d better get back there.” He dots a kiss to my sister’s forehead. “I’ll ask the chief if I can get off early and take you home myself. I’ll be right back.”

  He takes off just as Hook staggers up. “Is it true? Is it Larson?” He looks to Meg in disbelief, and she gives a curt nod. “My God, you didn’t do it, did you?”

  Meg offers him a look that can kill, all right, and it’s aimed straight for Hook. “Don’t you dare accuse me of a homicide when the body hasn’t even had the chance to cool. Ask me again when she’s in the morgue. I didn’t like the way she was looking at you.”

  “Meg,” I’m quick to reprimand her. “This isn’t the time to kid around. Something horrible has happened.”

  “I know.” She pinches the bridge of her nose “I’m sorry. I don’t handle homicides as well as you do, Lot.”

  Lainey lets out a ghostly moan. “Let’s change the subject. It’s bad enough they’re basically holding us hostage. What are we doing for Christmas?”

  “Oh!” Mom waves a hand in the air as if asking for a turn to speak. “I’ll gladly host Christmas Eve at the B&B. Which reminds me
, Lottie, Mistletoe Mania is coming up fast.” She shoots a look my sister’s way. “Someone just sprung it on me. I’d like to have the Cutie Pie Bakery and Cakery cater the desserts. These Yule logs are to die for. Throw in some of those, would you?”

  I make a face. “You bet.”

  “Me, too.” Lainey lifts a finger. “We’re having a staff Christmas party in two weeks and I’m in charge of the dessert, but you know I can’t bake.”

  “Don’t worry. I’ve got you covered.”

  Hook winces. “How about me? Redwood Realty is going to need an extra dose of Christmas cheer now that we’ve lost one of our own.”

  “You bet. Just name the time and I’ll be there with all the dessert platters the office can handle.”

  Keelie and Lily trot this way, their newfound Santa hats bobbing, their feathered fringe bouncing around their thighs.

  “Lottie!” Lily’s voice trills my name, and she looks as if she’s about to be sick. “What was the dessert the deceased was eating? Quick. As soon as they clear me, I’m out of here. I can’t stand the sight of Naomi pawing all over Alex. I don’t know how I’ll ever get through this month.”

  Keelie shudders. “My sister is the last person I ever thought would play second fiddle to anyone.”

  I glance over and groan at the sight of them. Alex and Naomi are locked in an embrace as they sway to the music as if it were a slow song, completely oblivious to the fact there’s a corpse in the next room. Keelie and Naomi are twins, but Naomi has opted to dye her blonde locks a striking shade of onyx and it’s a good look on her.

  “The dessert, Lottie,” Lily wails. “What was it? I need to focus on the bakery or I’ll just go crazy.”

  “It was my Yule log. She had it on her—quite literally.” I give a circular nod as I glance toward the library.

  “Great.” Mom lifts a finger. “I’m jazzing up my tours with a Christmas theme for the month, and a slice of your Yule log cake will be the perfect endcap to a haunted afternoon.”

  My mother doesn’t mind one bit profiting off the fact her B&B is infested with poltergeists—four to be exact. There’s Greer Giles, a gorgeous brunette about my age who was shot last winter, and her two-hundred-year-old boyfriend, Winslow Decker. Last summer, they adopted a little wild child who was about six when she perished named Lea, and there’s a rather newer addition, a fuzzy black cat named Thirteen.

  And once my mother is through bilking the poor tourists of their eighty bucks apiece, she sends them my way for what she’s dubbed as The Last Thing They Ate Tour. It’s been a proven financial (rather grisly) win-win for both my mother and me.

  Carlotta stumbles our way. “Is it true, Lot?” she barks over at me. “You found a body and didn’t bother to call me over to see it? All I asked was that you scream loud enough for me to hear it. I’ve never asked much from you, but I’m mighty disappointed you couldn’t do this one measly thing. Now they’ve got the place covered with caution tape, and God knows they’re going to wheel her out the front with a sheet over her head. Now I’ll never see a dead body.”

  Every soul in our small circle stares wordlessly her way.

  “What?” She smacks her lips. “Fine. I’ll keep my socially unacceptable thoughts to myself next time. But don’t tell me none of you weren’t thinking it.”

  Everett heads this way. “We’ve been cleared. We can leave the premises.” He nods to Lainey. “Forest said he’s on his way.”

  “Oh good.” My mother fans herself with her fingers. “I don’t know where Topper went. The last thing I knew he was arranging for us to have drinks with his good friend, Royce Bentley.”

  Everett swoops in and takes up my hand. “Royce Bentley? That’s Cressida’s father.”

  “No way,” I’m quick to scold my mother. “Royce Bentley sounds like a top-of-the-line car mash-up only the wealthy can afford to have drinks with. Besides, with Topper’s questionable history, do you really think it’s wise to have drinks with him and a friend?” Topper Blakely, the silver fox who has stolen my mother’s good senses, runs a dicey app for seniors who like to swing. He’s deplorable. And just last month, Cormack was swinging in his direction as well.

  “Topper and I are just friends.” She tips her head my way. “Besides, Lottie, rumor has it, Royce Bentley has as much wealth amassed as the US government has debt. It might be interesting to see where things lead.”

  “Yes, well, if they lead behind locked doors, I’d make a run for it if I were you.”

  She waves us off. “I’ll be fine.”

  Forest comes over and takes Lainey home. Meg and Hook navigate my mother to the door much to her protest.

  Everett glides an arm around my waist. “Noah wants me to take you home.”

  “But I can’t just leave. They hired me to be here.” I glance out at the sea of people, half-expecting to find Larson herself ready to strangle me for not refreshing the dessert table. A hard sigh comes from me. “Oh no. I just remembered. The van is full of Yule logs. I’ll need to stop by the bakery and get them into the fridge.”

  “I’ll do it,” Carlotta volunteers. “If it means you get to spend some alone time with the judge under the mistletoe, I’ll take one for the tawdry team.” She gives a hard wink my way before looking to Everett. “Feel free to punish her as you see fit. She’s been a very naughty, naughty girl.”

  Before I groan or swat her, Lily takes Carlotta by the elbow. “I’ve got the keys to the van. I’ll help you. Essex, you take Lottie to bed like Noah asked you to.”

  I can’t help but avert my eyes as the two of them disappear into the crowd. I go to wrap my arm around Everett’s waist when that white note teetering at the mouth of his pocket floats between us and I catch it.

  Everett tries to snatch it back from me, but I quickly shove it down my cleavage.

  “Everett, don’t you dare start keeping secrets from me now. It’s bad enough we’re keeping secrets from Noah.”

  He closes his eyes an inordinate amount of time. “Go ahead, Lemon. But don’t say I didn’t warn you. It’s not a love note.”

  I quickly unfold it and gasp once I see the words.

  We know where you sleep at night.

  Chapter 4

  Noah didn’t frost my cookies last night.

  There was no way I was going to let Everett sleep at his place without me, and, of course, Noah wouldn’t dream of letting me, his wife, who is supposedly harboring his baby in my womb, go anywhere near that Canelli-based minefield.

  Everett slept at Noah’s, or so I thought. By the time I got up to get ready for work, he was already back at his place. Protecting Everett from the Canellis is going to be harder than I could have ever imagined.

  As soon as I got to work this morning, I lost myself in a flurry of baking. I suppose there’s no better time to do stress baking than December. Noah helped shovel a path to the bakery this morning—we had a snowfall of at least a foot and Noah wasn’t going to risk his pregnant wife falling or being left to her own devices to shovel her way in, and I happen to think that’s sweet. Noah is doing all he can to ensure I’m treated like a queen in my supposed physical condition. He stayed at the bakery until Lily arrived, then went home to let his Golden Retriever, Toby, out.

  “Lottie”—Lily shakes her head at the dozens of yummy treats I’ve whipped up as I stock the glass shelves next to the register—“peppermint pinwheels, chocolate snowballs, Santa fruit and nut snacks, candy cane fudge, butterscotch shortbread, chocolate peanut butter reindeer droppings, candied cherry thumbprints, and iced sugar cookie Christmas trees?”

  “Don’t forget the chocolate chip croissants, red and green glazed donuts, apple strudel, and Noah’s favorite, chocolate chip cookies. A girl’s gotta take care of her husband.” I flash my wedding ring at her, and I can’t help but feel like a big faker.

  “And who’s going to take care of the tourists, Lottie?” She sinks her balled fists into her hips. “What about the Yule logs? They’re not going to bake themselves, y
ou know.”

  “Lily, you put at least two dozen in the refrigerator last night. I would be committing a crime to even think about making another one.”

  “You’re wrong. There’s only twelve left. And I predict those will be gone by afternoon.”

  “What happened to the rest?”

  “Carlotta took them. She said she had a couple of girls staying with her and she needed all the free food she could get.”

  “Guests?”

  The line at the register begins to grow, and the first woman up at bat requests a whole Yule log in its entirety. Figures.

  Lily shoots me a knowing look as if to say I told you so, and the two of us get right to work, servicing the onslaught of early morning customers. We already have a long list of holiday orders, not to mention a steady stream of cookie deliveries to the Jolly Holly Tree Lot.

  The Cutie Pie Bakery and Cakery was a gift from my grandmother Nell, just like the rest of the properties she gifted me in her will when she passed away last January. Of course, the fact Nell gave me anything set my uncle Will’s teeth on edge, but a judge sided with me last summer and I’m a virtual land baron whether I want to be or not.

  Speaking of land, last month Everett and I purchased the Maple Meadows Lodge together in honor of Noah. We weren’t sure if Noah was going to make it or not, but it was a piece of real estate Noah had shown interest in a few months back. He said he wanted to purchase it as a part of his legacy to leave for his children one day, and it just so happened that I thought I was housing one of his offspring, so I went ahead and took the financial plunge into real estate waters. But as it turned out, I didn’t have the cash available to make the loan stick, so Everett offered to take the plunge with me. I’m sure Noah will buy him out when the time is right, but due to Noah’s delicate physical state I don’t dare bring up the fact he needs to cough up almost a million dollars to his former stepbrother—or the fact we’re not really married anymore, or the fact my pregnancy is nothing more than a maternal mirage.